The Ring will come to Gondor
by Varda
Chapter Fifty-seven: Escape from Minas Tirith
In the lower levels of the Houses of Healing, where wounded
city dwellers and and men-at-arms were cared for by the sisters, a tall
figure cloaked in grey with hood drawn up threaded his way past the
hurrying attendants and healing women. The women stood aside, for
although the figure walked forward taking care not to brush against
anyone, he had a proud and dangerous air about him, and his hood,
concealing his face, gave a hint of menace.
With all eyes upon the tall man, few spared a second glance for the
child, clad in a similar long grey cloak, who walked close at the man's
heels, hastening to keep up with him. But many stared at the Dwarf
following them both, for few Dwarves came to Minas Tirith these days,
even though generations of Dwarves of the North had laboured on the
building of Minas Tirith in ancient times.
At last the hooded man stopped at a closed door and when no-one was
watching he pushed back his hood and kneeling down to bring himself
level with the little figure at his side he said in a low voice;
‘I will not go in, Frodo. It is not my place, but yours. Sam is your
loyal and trusted servant, and he is sore hurt. Go in now and comfort
him…..’
The little figure pushed back his own hood and looking up at Aragorn he said in a worried voice;
‘I pray Sam is not badly hurt, Strider. For I can go on with my errand only if Sam comes with me...',
Aragorn bowed his head slightly. Then he said;
‘Sam's place is at your side, I know that, Frodo...'
Then Aragorn straightened up and added;
'I will be out here, on guard. Take as long as you want. No-one will intrude on you till you are finished, I promise you….’
And Aragorn pushed back his cloak to leave free the hilt of his great
broadsword, glinting in the dim light of the passageway. Frodo smiled
his thanks and pushed the great iron ring that served as a handle, and
went in and closed the door behind him.
Gimli looked at the door then at Aragorn and said in a gruff voice;
‘It does not take two to guard a room from an army of nurses….’
Aragorn shook his head and smiled. Then Gimli said in a solemn voice;
'Aragorn, I want to go and pay my respects to Legolas, who lies all
alone in that great cold hall below the Citadel where the Sisters of
the Houses of Healing lay out their dead....'
Aragorn could see tears gleam in Gimli's eyes. The Dwarf said;
'It is no place for an Elf! he should lie under the leaves of a summer forest, even in death...'
Then Gimli heaved a long sigh and said;
'I did not say farewell to him in proper fashion before. He was my
brother although he was an Elf, and I cannot leave the city without
seeing him again, even if he be dead….’
The dwarf’s face looked weary and grey. Aragorn nodded sadly and said;
‘Go, my friend, and say farewell in the manner of your people. Take as long as you want. I will wait here till you return…’
Frodo closed the door softly behind him, and at the sound an old woman,
sitting in a hard straight-backed chair beside the bed, got up at once
and turned round. Seeing Frodo, she smiled and put a finger to her lips
and softly made her way past the hobbit to the door. But before she
could leave, Frodo raised his hand to stop her and whispered;
‘Wait, lady Healer…..tell me before you go, how is Sam?’
The woman, clad in a long blue gown with a spotlessly clean white apron
wrapped round her waist and a white kerchief round her head, replied in
a soft, low voice;
‘The cut he took to his head is deep, master halfling, but not fatal, we deem. It scored bone, but did not pierce it....'
Frodo heaved a long shaky sigh of relief. But the woman raised her hand and went on;
'But he has other wounds too, and is sore tired, pushed far beyond what one of his size and strength should have had to endure…’
Frodo made a wry face.
‘That often happens to hobbits…’
It was the healer’s turn to make a wry face.
‘I can see that…'she said, and Frodo was aware she was looking at the
healed cuts and bruises on his face, that he had from his struggle with
Boromir when he took the Ring. Then the healer said;
‘Your Sam is sleeping, but must waken soon. Go sit with him, Master
Halfling, so he has one who is a friend beside him when he wakes, for I
ween his dreams have been dark…’
Frodo nodded and walking further into the room he took the chair the
woman had just left, and she opened the door and slipped quietly out
and closed it behind her.
Sam seemed tiny in the great wide bed, an ocean of snowy sheets and
warm deep red blankets engulfing him and high, plump pillows cushioning
his curly head. Frodo bent over his friend, noting the expertise with
which Sam's wounds had been dressed and bandaged. His tawny curls
escaped from under the snowy linen and his face had been washed clean
of blood, but it looked now even more pale, and the bruises got from
Saruman’s ruffians were even more noticeable. His usual red cheeks were
grey-white, and blue shadows lingered under his eyes.
Sam was still soundly asleep, his hands, cut and bruised from the
fighting, lay on the neat dark red coverlet. The healers could not find
any clothes to fit him, so after they had bathed him and tended to his
wounds, they had dressed him in a child’s shirt, but even that was too
large for Sam, swathing him in yards of white linen. Frodo thought with
a shiver that it was like a shroud, and Sam like one laid out in death;
he thought of Legolas and would they would bury an Elf in the tombs of
the lords of Gondor...
Frodo looked again at Sam, and sighed to himself. He had planned, long
before when they were at Parth Galen, to give Sam the slip, and the
whole Fellowship with him, and go on to Mordor on his own. That way, he
would have taken none of his friends to certain death; he alone would
have perished on this dreadful errand.
But now it was different; he could not leave Sam behind. However weak and wounded he was, Frodo needed Sam….
‘Éowyn!’ shouted Sam suddenly, sitting up and staring wildly round.
‘Lady Éowyn! Look out….!’
And Sam looked about him in bewilderment....
All he could see was a high, quiet, sparsely furnished room with a
tall, narrow window through which streamed a long shaft of afternoon
sunlight…and his master, Frodo, sitting on the bed smiling gently at
him.
‘Mr. Frodo!’ he gasped. ‘Mr.Frodo….are you really here?’
Frodo laughed and leaning over he embraced Sam.
'Of course it is me, my dear Sam!' he said 'Who did you think it was....?'
Sam for a moment was struck dumb; in his mind still echoed a horrible
dream; he had been with Frodo as they climbed a steep barren
mountainside. But it was not the beloved master he longed to find
again. Frodo had altered, descended into something else, some
changeling both like and unlike his master who called to him constantly;
'If you do not hurry, I will leave you behind...' and in his dream Sam,
unable to stand, had struggled to follow this ghost Frodo, even though
he drew away from him, laughing as he went...
Now Sam shook the vision from his mind and cried;
‘You’re safe and sound, Mister Frodo! You’re here!’
And Sam tried to get up, but at once fell back on the high cushions
with a groan. Frodo quickly laid a gently restraining hand on his
shoulder.
‘No, Sam! Lie still, you are hurt, your head is badly cut….’
Sam lay back, too sore and weak to argue.
‘I’ll be better presently, Mr.Frodo…’ he gasped, and a look of concern furrowed his brow.
‘Is Lady Eowyn all right?’
Frodo smiled.
‘I promise not to tell Rosie you woke up calling for the princess of
Rohan…’ Sam went red to his ears but before he could speak Frodo
laughed and went on;
‘I am only joking, Sam! Lady Éowyn was hurt by a spear thrust,
but she has been cared for by the Healers as you were yourself, and is
mending…’
Sam lay back, looking relieved. Then he frowned again and asked;
‘What happened? The Lady and I were surrounded and outnumbered, we were
lost..then something hit me on the head and everything went black...’
‘A great warrior of Gondor rescued you both…’ said Frodo.
‘A great warrior of Gondor?' asked Sam in wonder. 'Who is he?’ asked Sam.
‘He is called Boromir’ said Frodo softly.
‘Boromir!’ shouted Sam, trying to jump from the bed. His wounds woke
with fierce pain at once, and he fell back groaning. Frodo shook his
head.
‘Now, Sam!’ he scolded. ‘You must rest!’
‘But Boromir….’ said Sam. ‘the one who did so much harm to you, master.
The one....…’ and here Sam dropped his voice to a whisper; '...the one
who took the Ring..'
Frodo nodded and looked away, for a moment lost in thought. Then he shook his head.
‘We must forget that now, Sam. Boromir has put right much wrong, not
least by saving your life and bringing you here to the city….’ Frodo’s
face clouded and he added, as if to himself.
‘..in fact, that might have been his greatest deed of all..’
Sam looked up at Frodo suspiciously.
‘What do you mean, Mr.Frodo?’
Frodo looked at Sam and said in a low voice;
‘It is very important that you rest now, Sam…’
‘Why?’ asked Sam, even more suspiciously.
‘Because..’ said Frodo with a gleam in his eye ‘..tonight you and I are going to escape from Minas Tirith…’.
Gimli strode down the hallway of the Houses of Healing with his rolling
gait, nodding politely to the Sisters he passed, especially the younger
and prettier ones. But his feet slowed as he descended the long stone
staircase that led to the lower levels. His heart was heavy and he
muttered into his beard.
'Legolas gone...the world is a darker place without your bright presence, my friend....'
Suddenly Gimli was brought up short by a man standing directly in his
path. Gimli raised his head, and gasped. There, right in front of him,
stopped in mid-stride as the Dwarf himself was, stood Boromir....
For a moment Gimli did not know him; Boromir was clad in a long black
gown of velvet embroidered with silver. His hair was neatly combed and
bound with a silver circlet and round his neck he wore a gold chain
with a seal in the shape of a star. He looked every inch the Steward's
brother and Marshal of Gondor. But he still bore at his side his great
broadsword in its black and silver scabbard. Seeing Gimli, he put his
hand instinctively to the hilt.
Gimli, for his part, at once raised his hand and drew from behind his
back where he kept it strapped, his long-handled double-headed axe.
Boromir raised a hand as if to placate the Dwarf;
'Gimli, I bear you no ill will; I merely go to find Sam and see if he
is healing well....we met here by chance. Let me pass, I mean no harm,
and that harm I have already done...' Boromir paused, thinking of his
meeting with Frodo. '...I have settled with Frodo...'
'Maybe you have settled your account with Frodo' said Gimli in a dangerous voice.
'But what of your account with Legolas...and with me?'
Boromir went pale and did not answer. Gimli grunted and said in a low voice;
'I was prevailed upon to let it go, Boromir. And I did. But now I see
you before me, alive and honoured while Legolas lies on a stone slab in
a vault, I find I cannot forgive you!'
And with the last words Gimli shook his axe and his beard trembled with anger. Boromir raised both hands.
'Gimli, I do not want to fight you....'
The Dwarf gripped his axe in both hands and stepped towards the man.
'You should not have come back to Minas Tirith, Boromir....' he planted his feet and raised the axe
'....you should never have come back....'
